


I Need A Hero

by ambersagen



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Fluff, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jaskier is not compitant, Jaskier's sad backstory, M/M, Mentions of rabbit murder, Not in the least, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Eskel, Witchers like to pamper and care for cute humans, Wow, animal butchuring, but he is cute and he knows it, five times Jaskier tried to be independant and one time Eskel put his foot down, geralt is stressed, really almost no angst, sugar baby Jaskier, sugar daddy geralt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26678533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambersagen/pseuds/ambersagen
Summary: It was wrong to think like that, to feel weak in the knees at the thought of an older, mature man, with skills and confidence in themselves, with life experience and stories to tell. He had always had a thing for older men, and it had gotten him nothing but trouble and heartache back in Oxenfurt. He shouldn’t be thinking of Geralt’s brother with that fluttery, warm excitement low in his stomach and his fingers twitching to play the songs he might write about such a man. Eskel seemed perfectly lovely, and if Geralt was to be believed he was unlikely to find anything interesting in a bard like himself, a practical child just off his mother’s teat compared to the lifespan of a Witcher.It was enough to make him want to weep.---Jaskier wants nothing more than to impress Geralt's handsome brother, but there's something he doesn't know about how Witchers feel about their human companions (and neither Witcher cares to explain to the oblivious bard why he gets all the pampering and snuggles he doesn't even know he craves)
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Platonic Geralt and Jaskier
Comments: 48
Kudos: 325





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit distraught at Eskel's recasting (who is this new guy? A baby? AN INFANT?) so here is beefy sugar daddy!Eskel

When Jaskier, renowned bard of the continent and pride of Oxenfurt, had first embarked on his travels with the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia, he thought he had found the peak of masculinity. He wasn't ashamed to admit that half of what had drawn him to the Witcher was that strong jaw and those broad shoulders. Geralt had something of a prettiness about him too, with the long flowing hair and the dimples, but Jaskier was pretty sure any poetic odes he might wish to serenade him with on the subject would earn him another punch to the gut. So he kept his mouth shut, and his eyes appreciatively on that ass only when his friend's back was turned. It was fine. He would never consider pressing his advances where they were clearly unwanted, and it was so much more fun putting his energy into courting Geralt's friendship than it would have been courting Geralt's preferred Fuck, Fight, and Forget technique of loving.

So a year passed, and another. By the Witcher's side he saw amazing and horrible things, creatures and people he never would have encountered on his own, sheltered as he was first at court and then at University. He got rained on, spit on, had been chased by bandits and held skin and bones together while Geralt sewed his own skin back together like a tailor sews burlap bags.

The point was, he had really grown in knowledge and experience these last two years. He was _seasoned_ now, toughened on a life full of travel and endless nights of roughing it. He had seen some shit, ok?

Somehow though, nothing had prepared him for this.

The sound that left his throat was undeniably a squeak. A yelp reminiscent of some small, pathetic animal that had him ducking behind Geralt automatically, and then doubly hiding behind his lute in utter mortification. Because, well.

He was embarrassed! Curse Geralt a thousand times over for not warning him, for doing nothing to prepare his heart and mind for this encounter of the most dangerous kind. His heart was racing, and as he peeked up over his instrument at the source of all this pulse racing adrenaline he felt his breath catch in his throat because. Because!

“Big!” He choked out, then wished he had choked on his spit rather than speak as the man in front of him, the god, or demigod surely, shifted uncomfortably where he stood. He gave a shrug, a neck crack and roll of those mountainous shoulders -miles of broad muscle that made Jaskier feel like a delicate half starved noble waif. But it was a shrug born of discomfort.

He could feel Geralt sigh, his once peerless and now dwarfed chest expanding in an exasperated exclamation that was as good as a shouted reprimand from the Witcher. A sigh that commanded ‘behave bard’ with all the implied growl the Witcher usually put behind his orders. It was a nonverbal language Jaskier had studied tirelessly and prided himself on his growing fluency in.

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled, “This is Eskel. Eskel, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pulled himself together. He dropped his shoulders back, tilting his head to ever so slightly emphasize his neckline, easily visible with his doublet unbuttoned and his laces loose. He stepped forward, putting the slightest sway into his hips.

“He-hey, Hi. I’m Jaskier. Uh, you’re a Witcher too?”

He mentally smacked himself in the face. Ok, not his best opener, but hey, it was already going better than it had with Geralt!

“Yes, I’m from the same school as Geralt.” The new Witcher seemed hesitant. But, Jaskier noticed with a small flame of hope, that the Witcher’s eyes had strayed down to where he knew his chest hair peeked enticingly out from his chemise. Maybe this could be salvaged.

“Oh. That’s nice.”

Oh _why_ wouldn’t the gods smite him where he stood and end his suffering before he made an utter, unrepairable ass of himself? Jaskier mentally shrieked at himself to stay quiet but his mouth just kept moving, as if possessed.

“So, you two were school boys together?”

Geralt looked like he was in physical pain, staring stoically in agony at absolutely nothing on the far wall. The demigod, Eskel, a delicious beefy example of Witcher-kind that he was, looked at him with wide eyes. Beautiful eyes, framed by loose bangs that made Jaskier’s fingers twitch with the desire to brush through, to tenderly touch and see if maybe he could run his nails along that head until he found out if Witchers could really purr. It was a pet idea of his, a fantasy born of yellow cat’s eyes and a desire to please now _two_ of the most handsome men in his life. He wondered if the scars that ran down the chiseled face above him were sensitive, if the Witcher would welcome a gentle touch that might soothe any phantom soreness from the old wounds.

“We grew up together, yes." Eskel finally says, gaze flicking between the bard and Geralt as if waiting for some sort of punchline to this awkward conversation, and Jaskier blinks, pulled out of his head and suddenly aware that he had been staring like a fool for who knows how long and _curse_ his poetic fantasies! He was lucky Eskel seemed much more even tempered than Geralt, even if the man surely thought he was simple or mad or both by now, as he found his words failed him and he had no reply despite the tantalizing possibility of learning about their lives as young Witchers.

“So, the hunt?” Eskel says, and like a switch has been thrown Geralt, bless his socially stunted heart, is back in the game, leading his brother over to a free table at the back of the tavern and not sparing a look for the bard as Jaskier trailed behind them like a gormless puppy. They surely were brothers, and it was all he could do to walk a straight line as his eyes followed two perfect asses to the back to discuss whatever monster was terrorizing this backwater village.

He made sure to hang back just enough to get a great view as they walked, side by side. The pair shared more than just a training school it seemed. Perhaps he could winkle the name of their tailor out of Geralt later because wow, those pants left very little to the imagination.

Wonderful.

-

“So, that was your brother, huh.”

Geralt grunted, deft fingers pulling off armor in a strip tease that would normally have had Jaskier crossing his legs self consciously, but was somewhat wasted on him tonight.

“One of them. Eskel’s the best of us, smart. Respectable.” Jaskier was amazed. For Geralt this was downright gushing. It had been barely an hour since they parted ways with the lovely Eskel for the night, with the promise to meet up the next week for the hunt, and Geralt had been in a noticeably cheerful mood. “We trained together, passed the Trials at the same time.”

“Oh.”

So Eskel truly was the same age as Geralt.

Jaskier pondered this. He had never come and just outright asked his friend his age, but he knew that he himself had been a child still when Geralt had earned his title of Butcher, so it was reasonable to assume that the Witcher was...older.

He suppressed a shiver.

It was wrong to think like that, to feel weak in the knees at the thought of an older, _mature_ man, with skills and confidence in themselves, with life experience and stories to tell. He had always had a thing for older men, and it had gotten him nothing but trouble and heartache back in Oxenfurt. He shouldn’t be thinking of Geralt’s _brother_ with that fluttery, warm excitement low in his stomach and his fingers _twitching_ to play the songs he might write about such a man. Eskel seemed perfectly lovely, and if Geralt was to be believed he was unlikely to find anything interesting in a bard like himself, a practical child just off his mother’s teat compared to the lifespan of a Witcher.

It was enough to make him want to weep.

There must be something he could do. He wasn't unaware of his shortcomings, few and specific to physical skills he personally found tedious. But he knew he had his looks, although appealing to a completely different aesthetic than what the Witcher's all seemed to boast. He rather thought, judging by Geralt's appreciation for the more delicate bodies of his brothel companions, that his own slender form might be something Eskel could appreciate. He rather hoped it was so. He could always work on the rest, but beefing up to a Witcher's size seemed unpleasant if not outright impossible.

So the other stuff. He just had to figure out a way to impress wondrous Eskel. He grabbed his notebook and quill, tongue poking out as he began his list. If he could prove to be both a valuable asset as well as an aesthetically pleasing one then maybe Eskel wouldn't mind that he was practically robbing the cradle by choosing him.

After several false starts and some unavoidable daydreaming about a future where he was swept off his feet and preferably into bed by a very large, very impressed Witcher, Jaskier had a simple but functional list.

_Skills to ~~Improve~~ Impress Beefy Witchers:_

_1. ~~Gain~~ Upgrade wilderness survival skills! (mushrooms? Would like to know more about delicious mushrooms and where to find them + herbs for cooking less tasteless food)_

_2\. COOKING SKILLS_

_3\. Horse care (and tricks for earning the everlasting love of darling Roach so as to annoy Geralt + learn something very impressive to make Geralt regret everything he ever said about me and horses). Get a horse????_

_4. ~~Sword skills~~ ~~long range weapons~~ ~~of some sort~~ Fighting??????_

Perfect.

It was only a matter of time now before all that mountain of a Witcher was his. All he needed was a little effort and someone to impart their knowledge on his willing and able body.

"Geeeeerrraaaaaaaaaaaallt!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end notes for chapter warnings.

“Tie it off like this,” Geralt said, demonstrating yet again, with far too an efficient speed for Jaskier to follow along. He had really been hoping for diagrams, maybe a few anecdotes when he told Geralt he wanted to learn to hunt before they met up again with Eskel for the big hunt. 

But he was regretting asking now. Just a bit.

It wasn’t his fault! He just wasn’t such a good hands on learner when it came to some very few, _specific_ things. Of which setting rabbit snares was obviously one of those things. 

The rope broke free again, smacking across his knuckles before he could dodge. He yelped, and Geralt frowned, taking the bard’s hands and manually walking him through setting it, just like he had for the last four traps. 

Eventually the snares were set to the Witcher’s satisfaction, and Jaskier reluctantly admitted he had actually learned a few things in the process. The disgusting, dirty process. 

“I’m going to wash in the river,” he announced, looking at his browned and scuffed nails in dismay. Geralt said nothing, as usual, just tossed him his toiletry bag, which Jaskier fumbled to catch, also as usual. 

He lingered at the water, using a wood pick to thoroughly clean the grime and even breaking out a little of his hand balm after drying off. 

“Jaskier, it’s time.” Geralt called from camp, and the bard muttered under his breath, but did drag himself up from his ablutions. He was the one who asked to be taught, after all. And the last thing he needed was the extra grumpy Witcher he would end up with if he wimped out now. 

He accepted the pocket knife from Geralt, who only raised his eyebrows as he passed it over. _Do you need help?_ He asked without asking, and Jaskier shook his head. He was the one who wanted to try, and by the gods he would do it on his own.

And he didn’t want any witnesses in the high chance he did not succeed.

It took longer than he had expected to check all the snares. He had full on forgotten where two of them were, and the amount of stomping around and swearing he did trying to find them again, especially as each trap proved empty and caused his complaints to grow in volume and frequency, probably scared off all the game for miles.

His luck however, finally turned on the last snare, where a fuzzy brown spot declared his success at last. 

"Geralt! I got one!" He raced over to the trap, excitement in his belly and grin wide. He actually did it!

"Oh."

Little black eyes stared blankly up at him, the poor thing's mouth open in a dying gasp, small pink tongue hanging out. It's whole body was curved in a painful looking crescent, and Jaskier felt his hands shake as he reached out to remove the snare that had killed it. It's not like he was stupid. He knew animals died for all those delicious stews and roasts he enjoyed so much. Rabbits died every day, to humans or other hunters. That was the nature of...nature.

He flexed his hands, clenching them until no sign of trembling was visible and he could feel the indent of his short nails on his palms. He needed to remember why he was doing this to begin with. Eskel deserved a man who could provide, who was competent on the road. And if that meant murdering a few rabbits then so be it. Fur lined clothes didn’t come cheap, and Geralt could always use more meat in his meals. He didn't eat nearly enough for a man who exercised as much as he did.

With only a small cringe he managed to free the little body from the rope, rushing back to the fire with the animal held out before him like a hot potato.

Geralt grunted approvingly at the sight, gesturing for him to lay the rabbit down near a big log he had dragged over to sit on. Jaskier dropped it thankfully, resisting the urge to wipe his fingers on his pants. It wasn't like the poor little thing had been bleeding or anything, it just felt bad to touch something dead like that. 

"Did you collect the snare?" Geralt asked, giving a small chuckle as Jaskier jumped back to his feet with a curse, having only barely sat down. When he returned, face flushed and slightly out of breath but snare in hand Geralt had already built up the fire, a pot suspended above the flames with water set to boil.

"What now?" Jaskier asked, looking at the Witcher expectantly.

"Need to get the blood out, then remove the hide. After that we can butcher it for dinner and take a break."

"S-sounds great," Jaskier said, swallowing against the vague nausea that had risen at 'get the blood out'. He would do fine. People did this every day, hells, Geralt did this every other night! And sure, he usually tried to do most of it out of sight, ostensibly to leave the entrails and such away from camp so as to not attract predators, and sure, perhaps he did it a little bit because he knew it made Jaskier queasy to see and...hear his dinner being butchered. But that didn't mean he couldn't handle it! He would handle it.

"Show me," he said, rolling up his sleeves with determination. Geralt gave him a concerned look, but in the end said nothing, just pursed his lips and fetched the bard a small knife from one of his saddle bags. He handed the blade hilt first to Jaskier, and then crouched next to him on the log.

"First we'll remove the head, then let it hang a bit to drain. We can use the snare wire in a pinch."

"The wire?" Jaskier said, holding the knife away from his body uncertainly.

"Tie it up by the legs, as a brace while you skin it." Geralt said, picking up the rabbit.

With a quick twist he ripped its head off.

Ten minutes later Jaskier had finally finished vomiting and had been coaxed back to his seat on the log, the rabbit tucked away out of sight and the Witcher hovering like a worried hen over him as he helped steady the water skin for the bard to take slow sips from.

"Easy," Geralt grumbled, making his angry-worried face.

“I’m fine,” he groaned, leaning into the Witcher’s shoulder as his stomach gave another uncertain quiver. “It’s fine. Just….just a minor setback.” He took a last sip of the water, rinsing away the bitter burn of lingering bile. “We have a few days before we meet up again. We can try again tomorrow. I can do this.” 

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier hadn’t ever heard that particular combination of worried and reluctant agreement before, but he blearily added it to his mental lexicon as Geralt took the rabbit out of sight to finish preparing their dinner. 

He sighed. Being self sufficient was just as much work as he had always feared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning:  
> Rabbit death, animal butchering, and brief mentions of vomiting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Nanowrimo my dudes. More like Na No More Wips for me! Im working on finishing them all.

As it turned out, rising with the sun must be a Witcher thing and not just a _Geralt thing_ , Jaskier thought bitterly —or did he mean blearily? Whatever. It was too damn early for thinking. Geralt had rolled him out of bed like a barrel from the cellar after —possibly several— attempts at shaking him awake. Jaskier was pretty sure he would be grateful not to be left behind once the sun was higher in the sky, but right now he was aching for a warm bed as he rubbed his hands together to ward off the chill morning air. He waited dutifully as Geralt readied Roach, his face creaking with the force of the yawns that would be continuous until sometime after normal human breakfast hours.

He rubbed his palms over his face, working some life into his cheeks and wondering idly if one could gently slap themselves awake? He patted his face tentatively, unsure if it was the stimulation alone or a lucky side effect of pain that was supposed to be the rousing stimulus, when a heavy palm landed on his shoulder and he pitched forward with a yelp of shock.

Fast as a snake the hand slipped down to catch him round the waste before he ate dirt from his own inattention.

“Easy there, bard,” Eskel murmured, his breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck as Jaskier found himself slightly lifted off his feet as the Witcher pulled him up level with his own height, his body held firmly against the man’s dizingly solid chest.

“Yeaaaaah, ok.” He blinked up at the Witcher, his face actually close enough to smell the sharp tang of fire smoke and some sort of fresh plant smell on the man’s clothes. 

It was heaven.

A cough rudely interrupted his dazed ponderings and Eskel pulled away, slowly though and with a hand out to make sure he was indeed steady on his feet once more.

Geralt gave them his unimpressed look, which they both ignored with the ease of long experience being subjected to it. The group managed to get out of the town proper without any further trouble, the Witchers opting to walk their mounts as they quietly conversed about the hunt. It was actually kind of peaceful. once he was was actually awake to enjoy it.

“I’m faster than you. I can scope the area and be back before full dark.” Geralt was arguing, his tone having changed from generally existing in a grumpy manner to _actively_ existing in a grumpy manner.

Jaskier paused. He had been coming back from a quick trip to the bushes while the Witchers decided on a camping spot for the evening, and he hadn’t been expecting to walk back into the middle of an argument. But well, when one travels with Witchers nothing ever runs smoothly for long.

“You stand out like a candle in a dark room, pretty boy,” Eskel said, giving Geralt a friendly nudge over as he pulled the last pack off his mount. “Let me do the scouting and you say here to watch after your bard. Besides, you get too huffy when everything isn't exactly just so in your space.”

“Don’t be silly," Jaskier interjected, verbally and physically as he strutted in with a commanding wave of his hand. "The whole point of having two strapping young Witchers along on this hunt was that this job is too much for just one of you, correct? So you both will go do your sneaking and spying around and I will stay behind and set up camp.” He said firmly.

Geralt stared at him aghast, and Jaskier was forced to cross his arms to show he meant business. Sure, in all their time traveling together he had never shown much interest in setting up camp beyond finding a good spot to roll out his bed before just recently, and _yes_ , it had taken months of Geralt badgering him to do something with himself before he learned to properly set up a fire pit. But the point was he did learn! Eventually. It wasn’t like he needed to know these things when traveling alone after all. He wasn’t the one with a nature fetish and a penchant for passing up perfectly respectable inns in favor of dubious camps in even worse weather. Besides that, Geralt had a System. And woe betide any who interfered in his Method, or tried new and interesting ways to hang tents. Creativity was not something Geralt admired in a campsite, and Jaskier usually found it best to just let him do his thing and enjoy the benefits of being a supportive audience for a change.

But not this time.

“I am a master of all things camping.” He said, with all the confidence of a king.

“That sounds…formidable?” Eskel hazards when Geralt only pinched the bridge of his nose and loudly exhaled. “It sounds like he has this under control Geralt,” he said, and Jaskier couldn't help but puff up slightly at his approval.

“Let’s go together. He's right about it being dangerous, and if it turns out to be nothing we’ll get the job done twice as fast and be back soon to help with whatever still needs doing.”

Jaskier gave him a bow, toes practically curling in his boots at how easily the Witcher trusted him to have things in hand. “Leave it to me, oh fearless hunters!”

Geralt swore, huffing and muttering to himself before finally stomping over to Roach. “Don't let him do anything stupid,” he ordered the mare, who tossed her head in agreement. He turned to the bard with another huff. “Roach is in charge, if she sees, hears, or smells anything dangerous you take her and run.”

“Nice to know you think a horse is smarter than me,” Jaskier grumbled, definitely not pouting because that wouldn’t be attractive at all. Or mature. Or give the appearance of cool and competent….oh who was he kidding. Roach was in charge for a reason. But it was still rude of Geralt to say so in front of his brother.

Finally, with a last concerned look at his bard, Geralt followed his brother off into the forest. It was almost sweet, really.

“Ok. Camping master. Uhh,” he looked around. “Right. Roach, you’re on guard duty. Sound the alarm if there’s cause for alarm and all that. I will...ehh..oh! Set the snares? Yes. Food, shelter, and fire. Stands to reason catching food takes the longest. Ok.” He struck a pose, hands confidently on his hips as he gave the campsite a last look around. “I can do this.”

It was not ok, and he could in fact, not do this.

It took far too long to get just two snares set up, and by the time he had found a spot with even a small chance of prey and wrestled the damn things into position (his hands were filthy, dirt and detritus making him shudder) it was almost too late to see what he was doing and he had never actually set up the tent before.

He ran around as fast as he could to get a fire going, cursing rabbits and whoever was responsible for the invention of tricky stupid rope traps. He got a decent blaze going just as the sun was truly dipping away behind the trees, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he pocketed his good flint set. There was no sign of the Witchers, or any monsters for that matter as he checked in with Roach, who peacefully grazed off to the edge of the camp, so all was not lost yet.

He could still salvage this and prove to Eskel his competence. And Geralt, he supposed. But really, he didn’t need to be competent for Geralt. Geralt was Geralt and he knew the Witcher appreciated him for other reasons.

Determination renewed, he approached Roach, and the bags she guarded ever so faithfully.

“Ok my dear. Which pack is the one I need to build us a home away from home?”

He looked at the bags dubiously. Then he looked up at the sky in alarm as a roll of thunder moved suddenly overhead.

“Shit!” He dove to the bags, trying frantically to remember what pieces a tent was formed from. The oiled tarp was easy enough to find, both Witchers pretty much packed identical tents. But only one bag had wooden stakes, and neither bag had anything like a hammer to pound them down, or a rope to hang the damn things with.

“Tree, I need a tree!”

The horses just stared at him, and he stared blankly back, until a much closer rumble made him jump like a rabbit. He grabbed a tarp, leaving the wood pegs for now and abandoning the idea of rope, of which he wasn't even sure they had any of, or at least not any rope that wasn't part of Geralt’s weird scavenged collection of bits and bobs. A truly amazing collection of garbage. Seriously, Jaskier could not believe what people would pay real money for - but he was getting off track again.

Looking around their spot he was able to locate a tree with branches low enough that he might be able to drape the tarp over them, allowing it to hang across, perhaps even as far as a nearby bush for shelter. So he hefted the pack over to the tree, thinking unkind but also lustful thoughts about Witcher biceps.

In the end his plan, well. 

It didn’t fail?

He stared up at where the tarp was hopelessly tangled overhead, out of reach, twisted and impaled on the tree so badly that he was honestly scared he would rip it if he was even able to jump high enough to retrieve it.

“Jaskier?”

He whirled around, almost falling on his ass.

“No! I’m not ready! Go away!” He demanded, hands flapping around as he tried fruitlessly to wave away the Witchers before they saw his failure. But it was too late, and both Witchers were staring up at the tent with twin expressions of confusion, although he made a note to kick Geralt later for the hint of long suffering resignation that he added in.

"Wow." Eskel finally said, and Jaskier wished with all his heart that he could have heard the handsome man say that with impressed admiration, and not impressed disbelief. He wished he had at least destroyed the tent lower to the ground so he could perhaps have buried himself with it. It was an all too familiar situation, Jaskier the fool, useless as ever.

He hid his face in his hands instead, missing the alarmed looks the Witchers exchanged at the first hitching sound of his distressed tears.

He didn't miss the flash of lighting, nor the roll of thunder and the powerful gale that rushed through the camp, almost freeing the entangled tarp and making the fire dance as the storm fast approached.

In perfect sync, as if they were two halves of the same whole body, Eskel and Geralt leaped into action. In the blink of an eye Jaskier found himself sat in front of the still cheerfully crackling fire, a heavy cloak wrapped firmly around his shoulders as Eskel left him with a firm pat on the head before turning to help with the tent as Geralt freed it with minimal swearing and only one noticeable tear in the fabric.

Somehow, in the time it took Jaskier to reign in his composure enough to risk showing his face (hopefully any lingering flush would be attributed to embarrassment over him almost breakdown and not his even more embarrassing semi chub over how big Eskel's hands had felt, deliciously pressing down on his shoulders for that one moment), and ok, maybe it had been more than a few minutes but he was still surprised when Eskel dropped into a seat near him holding two rabbits and Jaskier's snares. A peek showed Geralt and an almost finished tent, no hint of anger around him, only the vaguest frown that Jaskier choose to interoperate as 'satisfied with his work'.

Eskel began prepping the rabbits for stewing. "That fire's good work," he commented, far too generously in Jaskier's opinion, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. "It should hold up unless it really pours."

His thigh was warm where it pressed companionably against Jaskier's, and the bard did his best to not fidget lest Eskel realize they were practically sitting in each other's laps and move away. He practically held his breath all through cooking and dishing out dinner, and he had to avoid Geralt's knowing and pitying glances as he blew on his bit of rabbit, face flaming red from having risked a flirty peck on Eskel's cheek as a thanks for cooking. It wasn't anything big or special! He flirted just so all the time!

A drop of rain hit his nose, startling him. He gave a sad little whine as Eskel stood up, taking all his delicious warmth with him. Another few drops fell, and lightning flashed in the not so distant distance. The Witchers exchanged a look that was a bit beyond Jaskier’s frowning vocabulary. He did however, recognize the 'hmmm' that Geralt gave in response to whatever Eskel must have been asking as his “yes, it must be done” 'hmm'. Before he had a chance to join in the non conversation he suddenly found himself airborne. With a yelp he threw his arms around Eskel’s neck as the Witcher lifted him, cloak and all.

As the rain started to come down in earnest he was already safely sequestered inside the perfectly pitched tent, warmly tucked in among the baggage and soon joined by two mostly unclothed Witchers (their wet gear left out under a tarp Jaskier had never seen in his life but at this point wasn’t going to question).

As he snuggled down between them, for warmth of course —the tent was large but not large enough for a grown man and a pair of massive, muscled Witchers— he felt a twinge of guilt begin to make itself known.

He felt the powerful urge to speak, unbearable even. He knew suddenly with a sinking horror that there was no way his brain would let him sleep this night if he didn't voice his concerns. That didn’t mean he had to watch their reactions, and he pulled his blanket up to cover his face, . He wasn’t quite brave enough for that. He never had been, and even though he was no longer a child awaiting a beating for messing up whatever it was that he had touched this time he still felt, even now as a grown man, just as vulnerable and disgusting as he did back then as a child. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I shouldn’t have lied about being a master at camping. I fucked it all up.”

He felt them shift around him, and he squeezed his eyes closed, laying stiffly as he waited for them to do….something. To yell at him about damaging their gear, or comment on how useless he was...is.

The silence stretched on long enough that he almost broke, tempted to peek, just to get an idea of how annoyed they were, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

He couldn’t hide his flinch when suddenly two arms were thrown over his chest, smooshing the air out of him and effectively pinning him down on all sides.

“It was a good fire.” Geralt said simply, his voice rough with sleep.

“We got the scouting done much faster together. You were right about that, and everything was mostly set up or easy enough to finish when we returned. You almost had dinner waiting and everything.” Eskel added. His breath was warm against the top of Jaskier’s head, and he had never been happier to be the little spoon, just so they couldn’t see his face. He was pretty sure Witchers could smell his stupidly pleased embarrassment regardless.

“Nice knowing someone is watching Roach. Safer.” Gerat said, patting his chest with one big hand. Jaskier wished he could pinch himself, just to be sure this was really happening. “Stop stressing and sleep you silly bard.”

“Sleep.” Eskel agreed, kicking a leg up to lay over both his companions.

With a squeak of agreement that had Eskel rumbling a chuckle Jaskier closed his eyes and let the rhythmic beat of the rain and the warmth of his friends lull him into dreamland.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments feed the beast as always.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes sense. Wrote it after taking cold meds and edited tired.  
> This chapter is a bit sad, and has some mentions of past child abuse so take care!

After that first hunt, which barring an initial slow start due to bad weather, went off-- according to Eskel--shockingly well due to proper reconnaissance and extra blades, the Witchers (and by default Jaskier) parted ways again.

“It's unusual for us to even run into each other on the path,” Geralt remarked, having eventually tired of Jaskier’s moping at Eskel’s absence. “When we do cross paths its even more rare to find a hunt that can support two Witchers.”

“So, what?” Jaskier asked, petulantly strumming and returning the same two strings over and over again. “You're saying it’s bad for business to spend a little time with family?” He gave up on the instrument with a huff, stamping his foot in frustration before dragging the case off his back to pack the thing away out of sight before he did something he would regret.

“That’s tragic Geralt, truly. Tragic and practically criminal. As your good friend I think I should be insisting you break this cycle of frugality and stop letting petty and or stingy humans dictate your life.”

Geralt actually chuckled. “Says the petty bard trying to dictate my life right this moment.”

"I'm just saying," Jaskier said, kicking at a rock in the road and sending it flying off the path and into the bushes. "I'm just SAYING. I think it would be good for all of you to see each other more often. And it's sad, ok? It's really fucking sad that you don't feel like you can have that!"

He stomped along, clenching his jaw and determined not to fucking cry over it. He didn't even notice Geralt had pulled Roach to a halt until the Witcher was dismounting with a grim look on his face.

“Jaskier." He growled, and Jaskier took a step back. He had _some_ self preservation after all.

"Come here, bard." He said warningly, and Jaskier gave it up, throwing his hands in the air and stomping over with a huff. He didn't know what was going through the Witcher's head but it wasn't like he could give anything like a real fight if he didn't like it.

To his surprise, what he received was a hug. Admittedly it was tentative, stiff and unpracticed, but it was a hug-from Geralt!

He melted.

How could he not? His friend was big and warm, and once the bard leaned into him and wrapped his arms around as much of the Witcher as he could reach Geralt finally relaxed a bit.

Carefully, and with a level of scrutiny that made Jaskeir squirm in place like he needed to pee, Geralt pulled back. He kept his two firm hands on both the bard's biceps however, and looked him dead in the eye.

“What’s wrong, bard?”

Jaskier wondered how he knew. He hadn't thought Geralt payed that much attention to his moods and flights of fancy. Not that Geralt ignored him or anything! Just that, Geralt was a practical person, and as such payed attention to things like how hungry his bard was or how tired. This new side of Geralt that gave hugs and noticed feelings was beyond anything he had expected this morning when he woke up in such a fowl mood. Maybe it would be ok to open up a little bit? Not pour his whole heart out or anything, just a small pump at the spigot so to speak.

“Do you think Eskel liked me?”

He almost definitely would have slapped a hand over his own mouth if he hadn't still firmly been held in place by the Witcher.

"What? Eskel?" Geralt looked at him now with less concern, or maybe more like concern that Jaskier was touched in the head. "He's Eskel. He likes most people. Why? Is that really what you've been in a snit over? Whether Eskel liked you or not?"

“He’s your brother, Geralt!" Jaskier pushed out of his hold with a jerk. Geralt let him go. He stepped back out of smacking range, well aware of how violently he liked to gesture when feeling strongly about, well, anything really. 

"Of course I want to make a good impression on your brother, the best of you all, as you said yourself! I just," he was wringing his hands and pulling at his hair by turns. "I know I’m not the best travel companion for a Witcher, but! I’m never against learning new things. Not Witcher things, strictly speaking. But, umm. Useful things? So you wouldn’t have to worry so much. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Geralt just blinked at him, and he blinked back, staring deeply into his friend’s golden eyes as he gave the Witcher time to process the information. Never let it be said he wasn’t attentive to his friend’s patterns of communication. Sometimes ideas needed time to ferment, really get percolating through his friend’s mind before any response would be forthcoming.

“Hmm.” Was the verdict, and Jaskier pinched him hard in retaliation —though the bastard didn't even give him the courtesy of faking a flinch.

With a gentle push Geralt extracted himself from his vengeful fingers, ignoring his friend’s confused grumblings as he moved to lead Roach off the road.

“Geralt! For Melitele’s sake, what are you doing? It’s not even noon yet. I swear I’m not having a breakdown. We don’t have to stop.”

“Can’t practice while walking.” Was the cryptic reply.

“What on earth are you talking about? Did expressing an emotion overheat your poor head—Heavens above! Be careful with that!” Jaskier yelped as the hilt of a dagger was thrust roughly at his person. “Geralt I don’t know what you want,” he complained, taking the knife from him gingerly. “We don't even have any game to butcher, and as I said, its not even noon!”

“Not a butcher knife,” Geralt grunted, removing their saddle bags and tack from Roach so she could graze unhindered. “Clear that spot over there of rocks. Don't want you twisting an ankle. Just kick them to the side.”

“But whyyyyy?”

“Training. If you travel with Witchers and refuse to stay behind then the most useful thing is to have you prepared. You should know how to defend yourself.”

“Oh.” He stared at the dagger in his hand, stomach sinking. Geralt was right, of course. Hells, he was actually surprised it took him this long to bring it up, or he would be if he wasn’t sure Geralt had very little concept of time beyond the changing of the seasons. He hadn’t even noticed yet that Jaskier wasn't quite normal, and he had a running bet with himself on reaching another decade before Geralt realized he wasn’t a full blooded human. He didn’t have much from his elvish blood besides good skin, which was a blessing considering his past experiences with training.

He swallowed tightly.

This wouldn't be anything like _that_ , he told himself sternly, willing his beating heart to get a grip. This was Geralt, who went practically feral whenever he saw the bard bleed. He couldn't imagine Geralt actually _hurting_ him during practice.

It wouldn’t be like before. And he would certainly be much more useful if he could carry a weapon confidently. Words weren’t so very effective on drowners and griffons, to his chagrin.

He closed his eyes as he tried to imagine it. Eskel might even be impressed when the foppish and delightful bard turned out to be a wicked hand with a blade.

He opened his eyes. “Ok. Let’s do this.”

It started simple. Geralt would demonstrate a hold or a thrust, Jaskier would repeat it a few times until they would try something new. It was fine, safe even, and Jaskier found himself relaxing as he got into the flow.

"Good," Geralt said, actually smiling at him. Jaskier beamed back.

"Now try to come at me."

Jaskier stopped beaming.

Geralt rolled his eyes. "Jas, even if you somehow managed to get a hit on me despite my 100 years of training, you couldn't possibly stab me badly enough that I couldn't recover in a day or two."

"Of—of course. Right." His grasp on the dagger suddenly felt weak, slippery with sweat. "Um, so you just, do I just do it?"

"Yes Jaskier. Any move. We can go from there." His face softened, most likely at the anxious scent Jaskier was sure must be pouring out of him at the moment. "Just remember what we've been practicing and give it a try."

Geralt took his stance, feet braced, knees slightly bent, yet arms to the side leaving his chest an inviting and quite frankly large target. Cautiously Jaskier raised the dagger, and took his own stance.

He stepped forward, Geralt stepped back. It wasn't so bad. He raised the blade, trying to remember exactly where he was supposed to aim, and jumped forward with a thrust. Geralt dodged, and Jaskier moved again, following the pattern they had been practicing for over an hour. He stabbed towards the Witcher's side, but his grip was too weak to prevent Geralt from twisting and plucking the dagger right out of his hand. With a startled gasp, Jaskier stumbled sideways, and Geralt caught him with a grin. 

The dagger was still up, held tightly in fist as it raised a bit more.

"That was well done, although you did get a little sloppy towards the end."

The dagger was still raised.

"That's easy enough to train out of you. Its not like on session is going to give you the reflexes-"

The dagger was still up, and Geralt moved toward him.

He had failed. He had been disarmed almost right off and now Geralt had the dagger and he was going to be _punished for failing-_

“No!”

He ran.

His blood was pounding in his ears, the sound of his own frantic, heaving breaths blocking out all others as he took off. Branches slashed his face as he ran, headless of direction or obstacles in his path. He just needed to escape. He couldn’t let them catch him. He knew they inevitably would. And when he could run no longer they would make him regret trying.

He slipped, foot hitting something wet and going right out from under him. The force of his fall almost knocked the breath from him, and he thrashed on the ground like a wounded animal, trying desperately to get his feet under him. A hand touched his shoulder and he sobbed, more of a strangled gasp than a real cry, curling in around his soft middle protectively. They always went for the gut kicks if they could. He wouldn’t make it easier for them.

But nothing happened, no pain rained down on him, and no voices jeered at his pathetic state. He curled in tighter, refusing to be fooled.

"Jaskier!"

He jerked away from the touch, from the yelling. He couldn't do this anymore, he SWORE he wouldn't. It was going to kill him, and he needed to get out. Hadn't he? Hadn't he ran before?

“No knifes, please. I can’t-“ He choked on the words. pressing his cheek into the dirt as the person -Geralt? _No, his father!_ NO, Geralt it was his _friend_ — touched his side again. No pain, just a firm pressure that stayed, bringing with it a warmth and presence that brought Jaskier back toward the present.

“Calm," the Witcher ordered. "No knifes. It’s alright, Jaskier.”

“It’s really not.”

Nothing about this was right. He wasn't back there, he wasn't Julian anymore and there was no one here who would harm him. But somehow he was, he was then and he was Julian and nothing he ever did would free him from this.

“I’m sorry, I can’t—“

He wept, unable to continue as the ghost like touches passed over, and through him. Memories of hands on his arm, or neck, of friends and family sneering and disappointed at his pathetic attempts to defend himself, all flickering in and out even as he knew, he knew! They weren’t real!

Geralt held him tightly as he shuddered and apologized his way through the flashbacks, the comforting sound of nonsensical yet kind words just barely keeping him from flying apart completely. He had always been alone before.

\----------------------------------

He wasn’t really cognizant of time passing. Everything was cold and fuzzy, and half the moments he felt like he was gaining control he struggled. He couldn’t get in enough air and thought for sure he would choke to death. Part of him desperately wished he could be hugging Geralt without his brain trying to kill him because he now knew Geralt gave good hugs. Maybe the best hugs.

Jaskier was sure he would love any hugs from Geralt simply because they were from his Witcher.

“Fuck. You’re a good friend Geralt,” he said, looking up at the Witcher through wet eyes. “The best. You’re my best friend in the whole world and I’m _nothing_ but trouble for you.”

Geralt was quiet while Jaskier lamented, and the tears were so thick that Jaskier couldn’t even make out what kind of a face his friend was wearing. Was he annoyed? Disgusted? Or was he, like Jaskier hoped for every day in the most secret corner of his heart, simply worried about his friend and not bothered at all by his, well. His everything.

“We weren’t—“ Geralt started, before cutting himself off with an angry shake of his head. Jaskier was pretty sure the anger wasn't at him, but at words. Geralt was always mad at words.

“Hmm. It wasn’t,” he paused, searching. “Allowed.”

Jaskier was confused, which actually seemed to be helping with the panic weirdly enough.

“What wasn’t?” He asked, pressing in tentatively. He relaxed when Geralt only shifted to let him sit more comfortably. He hoped this wasn't a one off thing. It was really nice, panic attack aside.

“Hugging.” A pause. “Comfort.”

His hold on Jaskier remained gentle, but the tension in his muscles from just remembering whatever it was that made it so hard for him to speak was palpable.

“We would scream ourselves awake every other night and, I think...it would have helped.” He gave the bard a squeeze, to show, that _this_ would have helped. Hugging, having someone there for them when it all got too much to bear.

“I don't think like they —like the old Witchers did. That it makes you weak.”

“No, of course not.” Jaskier pulled back, trying to get a good look at his friend. He needed Geralt to know he was serious.

“I don't think that _anything_ could make you weak, Geralt of Rivia. But, you know me. I don’t believe in bottling up my feelings,” he chuckled, looking at the mess between them. “Hence the weeping all over your only clean shirt. Umm. Geralt,” now, goddess save him, _he_ was the one stumbling through his words. But they were too important not to say.

“I would like to hug you. When you want it, and whenever you think you need it.” He patted his friend, mouth twisting up in a watery smile. “Like you say, it’s no trouble.”

“You don’t always have to take care of me, Jaskier.”

He thumped the Witcher on the shoulder, but he didn't even twitch, as if the bard were little more than a kitten batting at him. “We take care of each other.”

Geralt sighed. “Fine. _You and I_. _We_ can take care of each other.”

“Alright then? That’s...good?” Jaskier squinted at Geralt, who had his constipated look on. “Is there something I’m missing here? I feel like you are trying to tell me something.”

“No.” Geralt said, definitely untruthfully. “I’m saying nothing at all, because I refuse to get involved. But,” he gave Jaskier a look full of meaning, that may as well have been in Elder for all Jaskier understood it. “If I had something to say, it would be that you should consider how you would feel if someone wanted to look after you, for a change.”

“You look after me,” Jaskier replied, baffled.

“We look after each other. But maybe someone wants to,” he made a face, his chiseled jaw grinding like he had just swallowed a handful of particularly active worms. “Dote on you.”

Jaskier contemplated this. “You know,” he said slowly, looking up at Geralt through his lashes. “If you felt the need for doing a little doting, I would _really_ like to get out of this godforsaken forest and back to camp. My ass is wet from rolling in the mud.”

Geralt huffed, throwing his hands up to the sky at the bard, who blinked at him uneasily from his spot half in the mud and half on his lap wondering if that meant they wouldn’t be going back to camp yet.

“You’re an idiot, bard. Get up. Camp’s back that way.” He jerked his chin in what Jaskier would have sworn was a random direction. “For an idiot you are surprisingly fast with good stamina. You went a long way.”

Jaskier pouted. “Carry me?” He asked, raising his arms up beseechingly. Geralt looked at him, and then dumped him off his lap.

“You brute!” Jaskier shouted after him as the Witcher headed back to camp with a smirk. “I thought you wanted to dote on me! I don't feel very doted!”

“I never said _I_ was the one who wanted to dote on you.” Geralt called back over his shoulder. “Hurry up, bard! Some of us want to get dry sooner rather than later!”

“You horse’s ASS!” Jaskier yelled after him, hopping up and giving chase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all  
> I also removed the chapter count because I keep adding chapters. Win for you all I suppose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *blows kisses*  
> tags have been updated for light kink! (if you want to skip just dont read after the line break)

"I can't believe we just did that," Eskel said, pulling his shirt over his head with a groan. His whole body ached, but for once it wasn't because of numerous open wounds or broken bones. No, this latest job had been wild, as had all the jobs they had taken since joining up together again to become some sort of odd monster-focused mercenary troop. Two Witchers, a bard, and a boat load of trouble. 

"I can," Geralt grumbled. He had been a little less fortunate than Eskel, but still only had a dislocated and already healing shoulder from having single handedly pulled a wagon back onto the trail when a troll had almost knocked it into the ravine. "Kerack jobs are always fucking crazy."

"I just can't believe they didn't notice the chest was swapped," Jaskier said with a grin, far less grimy than either Witcher for virtue of having ridden up ahead of the group along with the lord of the small fort who had paid them a princely price to escort his not-so-legal shipment of magical goods across the toll free yet troll occupied mountain trail. He had avoided most of the skirmish, save for a few stray boulders that splintered off the large ones the trolls had sportingly thrown at them. "What an adventure! Double dipping on the pay and swapping illegal magic goods from corrupt lordlings to the care of no good sorceresses. It's too bad that giving the full tale would likely get a price out on all our heads. I'll have to figure out some way to change the identifying details lest the lord realize we made a deal to swipe his magical crap right out from under his nose!"

Eskel groaned as he stepped foot into the large open air baths. It was perfect. Not quite as hot as he could have tolerated, but also not as lukewarm as even the most generous baths at inns tended to be. The first thing the bard had insisted on when the sorceress had given them their second pay of the day had been to take advantage of having been portaled out of the keep and into the summer time retreat town of _respectable_ -and more importantly _distant_ Ciraris- was to book a luxurious and over priced room and to bustle the both of them off to the hot springs to recover from the fight. Neither Witcher had complained about the expense. It wasn't often that they had so much coin to rub together, so it mattered little how fast they spent it. 

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Jaskier asked, preening at his happy Witchers. "I've only ever been to the baths at Oxenfurt but these are just as lovely." 

He cast a shy glance at Eskel, having turned his back when the Witcher had initially undressed, despite the fact that they would soon be naked all together in the same water. "Would...would you like me to wash your hair?" he asked, uncharacteristically nervous. He tried to act nonchalant but he was pretty sure he would die if the Witcher said no. But it was a perfectly innocent question to ask, and there should be no reason for Eskel to _not_ want a hand. 

"I've done it for Geralt plenty of times." He added, busying his hands with capping and uncapping various soap bottles to hide the slight tremor. He was just a little over excited, that was all. He dared anyone to maintain their composure when surrounded by all that glorious Witcher. 

"Hmm," Geralt eased into the water with a blissed out frown. "You mean that time you tried to pour a bucket of water over my hair and ended up smashing me over the head with it when it slipped?"

The bard gasped, whirling around to point an accusing finger at the Witcher. "Lies and slander! Don't listen to him, Eskel. He doesn't appreciate what a delight I am."

"You're incorrigible and a rogue," Geralt retorted, but he had a fond smile on his face even with his eyes closed. "Get in the water, Jaskier. Before you slip and break your head open."

Jaskier clasped his hands to his breast and pretended to swoon. "You do care!"

"Course I do," Geralt agreed, then ducked his whole head underwater to avoid more conversation. He stayed under too. 

"Ive always been impressed by that," Jaskier said, finally moving to undress. The water didn't even ripple as Geralt remained under the surface, unmoving. Jaskier wondered if he was meditating under there. "Of course, I wouldn't put it past him to actually drown rather than admit to having a single kind feeling."

Eskel chuckled, moving over as the bard entered the water with a pleased shiver as his slightly chilled skin met the warmth of the bath. He eyed the small basket of soaps Jaskier had brought.

"I have a suggestion," Eskel said, hesitantly enough that Jaskier gave him his full attention. Not that he didn't always have it in some way, but there was a difference between giving a mans bulging and muscular tits attention and giving his words your ear. "You should let me wash _your_ hair. That way, if you really did feel up to washing mine later, you would know how I like it?"

"How you like it?" Jaskier repeated, a bit surprised. Was there more than one way to wash hair, he wondered? That certainly sounded like something he ought to have known.

"You know. What feels good." Eskel was red all over, most likely from the heat of the water, Jaskier guessed. But it was an enticing look all the same, his scars standing out rakishly against the maroon. "Come here, I'll show you what I mean."

"Well, alright. If you're sure?" He said, nervously pushing off from his seat to drift closer. "Umm, is this ok?" he asked, turning his naked back to the Witcher and tucking his legs up under him on the bench. He could feel Eskel moving up behind him, and he suppressed a shudder as he felt knees and other parts brush against him as they got settled. Goddess save him, he was actually going to die before Eskel even got his hands on him. 

_Goddess save him, Eskel's hands were going to be on him._

He sat as still as a deer frozen under the eyes of a wolf as the sounds of soap bottles and Geralt's occasional hum of satisfaction were almost drowned out by the rapid beating of his own heart. As the first gentle touch of fingers on his head pressed down he held his breath. Eskel was touching him!

And boy, Eskel was suddenly _really_ touching him.

He felt a groan of sexual proportions roll up out of his throat, and his eyes rolled back, leaving him blissfully unaware of the smug smile Eskel shot towards Geralt, who only rolled his eyes back and waved for them to continue as he went back to dozing. Had Valdo Marx himself danced his way into the baths with a full instrumental accompaniment he would have missed it. The firm massaging pressure of big, beefy Witcher hands pressing and scratching just deliciously back and forth along his scalp sent him out of his body with just how good he felt. 

He could have spent hours under the Witcher's capable hands. And for all he knew he did. He certainly had no idea how much time had passed by the time Geralt was finally stirring from his own relaxed doze in the bath. 

"Come on bard," Eskel said softly, hands drifting down the back of Jaskier's neck and kneading it a few times before pulling back. "You're going to fall asleep in the water at this rate. We should get out."

"Oh, but-" He tried to rouse himself, but only managed to splash weakly at the pool around them. "Your hair. I haven't washed your hair yet."

He could feel Eskel's chuckle against his back, and realized that at some point during his massage he had slid back until he was actually _in_ the Witcher's lap. only the thin towels draped across their loins for modesty's sake kept him from touching the Witcher's actual dick. It was a crime that he was simply too loose and sleepy to fully appreciate that the way he felt he should. 

"Tell you what," Eskel said amiably. "Geralt can get my hair this time. It's not like this is the last bath we'll ever share. You can have a go next time."

"Oh, well. If he doesn't mind?" He looked at Geralt hopefully, even as he felt his eyes drooping closed. He really was very tired. "I'm afraid I'm quite over cooked at the moment."

"Geralt doesn't mind at all, right Geralt? Let's let the bard rest."

"Hmm, fine." Geralt said, giving Eskel a look. 'You will pay for this' Geralt mouthed at his brother, slipping in beside him and grabbing the soap. He couldn't even splash him without taking out Jaskier too, so his revenge would have to wait.

The rest of the bath was positively radiating with repressed emotions, mostly glee from Eskel, who continued petting the drifting bard in his lap, as Geralt fought the growing urge to dump a bucket of water over his brother.

Jaskier drifted off to the soft sounds of bubbling springs, completely oblivious. 

\---

He woke slowly, like dough rising in the light of a summer-warmed kitchen. The pillow under his head was soft for once, not a sad lumpy thing like at most inns, and he vaguely tried to recall when he had even gotten in bed but he could not. Geralt must have brought him to bed. It wouldn't have been the first time his friend had carried him just so, but usually that was because he had gotten completely sloshed, not because he fell asleep in the bath like an infant. 

He was too comfortable now to mind how he got here in the end. He stretched, luxuriating in the feel of his loose muscles, and the smooth feeling of clean skin against sleep warmed sheets as he realized he was dressed only in his loosest pants. Yes, life was good. 

He cracked open an eye. From the dim light of the room he guessed it was still just before dawn. He was alone in bed, a surprising but not unappreciated turn of events. He and Geralt didn't always share, and the whole point of this particular holiday had been to splurge outrageously the money they had gotten at their semi heist. He could tell from years of traveling together with others that the Witchers were in the room with him, likely in two other beds -although he hadn't been conscious when they first entered the room so he wasn't sure about that. It was enough to know he wasn't alone, not really, so he would have to be _very_ quiet. 

Not his strong suit for sure, but it was little effort to press his face into the pillow as he slipped a hand down his pants to cup himself. He couldn't help it. It just felt _so good_ , and he was so rarely clean, well fed, and in a very nice bed all at the same time. No one could blame a man for indulging a little when such fortune fell into their lap, right?

He sighed, breath tickling his face as he rubbed his nose into the folds of the pillow, rubbing himself much the same way. His dick was already sticky, likely from the very nice dream he could still feel like a fog in his head. He thumbed his slit, imagining that hands thicker and rougher than his own were stroking him as he rocked slowly into the feeling. 

It was hard not to move too much, and he found himself writhing, trying to hump the mattress in the hopes that it would muffle the noise of his movements so as not to wake his companions. It was a heady feeling, knowing he wasn't truly alone, and he shoved the palm of his free hand against his mouth, biting down on the skin with a moan as he came suddenly and gloriously into his fist. 

He rode out his orgasm until there was nothing left, his wrist starting to ache a bit as he pumped his softening dick until no come was left. 

He hummed contentedly, already forgetting to mind his volume lest he be caught as his mind was blissfully fogged, sleep fast returning in the post orgasm haze. He raised his hand to his mouth, pushing sticky come covered fingers against his tongue with a little groan of satisfaction. With kitten licks he cleaned himself up, until the sound of wet suckling faded away as sleep once again claimed him.

Across the room two pairs of yellow eyes stared unblinking and wide awake at the ceiling. 

"Bloody hell—" Eskel choked out, his hands twisting the blanket over him in a death grip. "Geralt—"

"Shhh!" The other Witcher hissed back at him, unsympathetic. 

"But, He!"

"I know," Geralt ground out, then rolled over and, re-fluffing his pillow, closed his eyes, determined to ignore everything that had just transpired. "He's young. You'll get used to it."

"Get used to it? Goddess the smell alone, I'm hard as nails damn it," Eskel bemoaned, the dick situation going on in his pants at the moment dire. "Surely—"

"No," Geralt growled, pushing up onto his forearms and giving his brother a dirty look. "I know you want him but you can't," he whispered, voice vehement. "Not yet. We agreed you would take it slow and no one would get hurt."

"Ugh," Eskel threw an arm over his eyes. "I hate it when you're reasonable. I am trying, you know I am. But this is a bit much to take!"

"I said you'll get used to it," Geralt grumbled, laying back down once he was sure Eskel wasn't going to make any untoward moves. "Silly bard is hornier than a stallion. I'm impressed he's kept his hands off himself up till now. He must be serious about if he's been that distracted by you."

"Shut up," Eskel groaned, throwing his pillow at Geralt. "You're _not_ helping."

**Author's Note:**

> As always kind comments feed my writing and you can find me on tumblr at ambersagen if you want to chat!


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